


A Toast to Loneliness

by younoknowme93



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, POV Change, POV Harry Potter, POV Severus Snape, Post-War, snarry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-06 16:57:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11604906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/younoknowme93/pseuds/younoknowme93
Summary: A very short subtle Snarry drabble.  Post war.  Harry comes to Snape's room to share a drink.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be honest, I'm in a funk and I wanted to write something short to post. I wrote this in under an hour and there's very little 'plot' to speak of. In fact it could just as much just be a story about Severus thinking, but either way... onward my ducklings.

Loneliness is a strange thing.  It festers.  It corrupts.  It can cause a man to do things he would never have otherwise.  I should know.  I do know.  All too well.  I was a lonely child.  An angry spiteful teenager.  And a bitter adult.  Loneliness has been a consistent partner to me.  It held my hand as children ran in fear of me.  It embraced me when my father took my mother’s life before taking his own as well.  It enveloped me when my only friend- the only person to truly care about me- was killed.

I am not a perfect man.  I am flawed and ugly.  When confronted with adversity, I callously scab my emotions over.  I am not versed well in the ways of socializing with my peers.  In fact, I find all communication with others daunting and difficult.  I always manage to put my foot in my mouth or completely muck up to the point where I am misunderstood.  Lily was the only one that could really understand what I would be meaning to say.  I loved her for her gentle guiding words.  ‘No, that isn’t how you should say that.’ ‘Pay attention to your tone.’ ‘Back strait and talk confidently.’ It seems she was always trying to help me.  I could never really master her lessons though. 

I have been intimate with loneliness.  I can see it’s breeding grounds.  I can see it lurking behind the eyes of people who flash smiles.  I can see it in Lily’s green eyes every Friday night when her son, armed with a bottle of firewhisky knocks on my door.  He will take a seat in what I can’t help but think of as his chair, and I will sit in mine across from him.  The bottle along with two glasses sits between us on a table.  For hours he will sit seldom actually talking.  It’s a quiet company we keep, but a familiar one.  Relaxed even.  I will meagerly sip on a single glass the entire evening while he will throw his down his throat.  

I had heard that Granger and Weasley have gotten married.  I’m sure there is little place left for the hero to dwell.  School mates have graduated and best friends wed, but he remains at the school.  After the war, I was reinstated as Potions master, and he took over as Defense against the Dark arts.  Both professors, I suppose his presence beside me is out of convenience for him.  Though much older than him, I am still the youngest professor (aside from him) on the premises.  Still he gets on well with everyone.  I don’t know if he’s more like his mother or father.

I never start a conversation, and often neither does he.  So we sit in silence while sharing a drink.  I have never asked him why he comes here of all places, and he has never pried into my past.  Neither of us ask these questions because deep down, they do not really matter.  Life continues.  I still frighten students, and I have by no means softened.  He radiates positivity and hope aside from when he comes here.

Sometimes Lily’s child will look at me in a way that makes me unsure of our place in each other’s life, but I won’t question it.  He can come to my room and sip his firewhisky, and I will continue to allow him because what else would I do.  I think he needs this time to put down his walls and contemplate all that he keeps bottled up.  If the quiet of my room is suitable for that, then I will not be the one to chase him away.

And the days can turn into years with him still coming to my room, and I’ll not question him.  Should he look a bit longer or casually grasp my hand, I will not ask him his intentions.  I could never trust myself with my words.  I will merely sit beside him as long as he desires making a toast to loneliness. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is in Harry's POV. I was going to leave this as a oneshot, but then I really really wanted to it this story from Harry's pov. the style is still the same, and it's still a short read, but hopefully you all will like it. Onward my ducklings.

I try to be happy- or at least make others think that I am.  I was thrown into a world that I really didn’t want.  Magic.  It’s amazing and I love it, but I would have preferred a muggle existence with parents that would tuck me in or read me a story or just love me.  It isn’t something I will say aloud, no matter how deeply I wish that I could scream it. 

I have friends that have mostly outgrown me.  Sure sure, we are still close, but they do not need me in their married lives nor do I want to be there imposing.  So, I teach and then sit alone in my room until I feel that I have grown numb.  I couldn’t stand it, and I wasn’t sure who to talk to about it.  That’s not really true.  I didn’t want to talk to anyone about it.  I didn’t want eyes that couldn’t ever understand to look at me in confusion.  I’m the famous boy who lived.  I can’t go anywhere without someone recognizing me.  I could someone like me ever be lonely.  But I am.

I imposed on his solitude so that I could better handle my own.  I was so scared that he would turn me away, so I thought over my plan.  I would go on a Friday evening- no classes the next day, no projects.  I knocked on his door and held up a bottle of firewhisky.  I wasn’t really sure what to say, so I didn’t say anything.  He didn’t question why I came down to the dungeons, and I didn’t supply an answer.

He took a seat and I sat in the one that was across from his.  The old high backed chair seemed almost to embrace me.  It was actually comfortable.  No like how I always imagined his rooms would look.  It’s well-lit and warm.  Yes, the color scheme is Slytherin colors, but it looks regal and tasteful.  There are actually a few pictures- including one of two children embracing.  One is him, the other my mother.  I don’t comment.  He waves his hand and two glasses appear.  He fills them both and casually takes a sip.

I chug my own if only to calm my nerves while he tastes it and replaces it on the table. 

For the most part we sit quietly, and I find that I really don’t mind.  I don’t feel like I have to fill the quiet.  His eyes are so familiar.  I think he’s like me.  I’m almost ashamed when I realize that I have more in common with this man than I do any of my friends.  And it’s comforting.  Even as he refills my glass and we catch each other’s gaze in mutual understanding and I’m waiting for him to ask why I would come here.  He doesn’t.  He lets me sit in this chair and for one not smile when I want to cry. 

And sometimes I do cry once the bottle gets low.  I’ll dot my eyes, but I’m not worried about him saying anything.  If I cry, he will quietly sip his drink and I find this more comforting than any empty words.  I feel more at home in this chair than I do anywhere else, and I’m terrified one day he will ask me why I come here and I don’t know what I’ll tell him. 

I think I love him. 

I don’t question him about his past because I understand it all already.  Had Ron not talked to me on the train that first year to Hogwarts, then I think I would have taken Draco’s hand.  I understand what lengths someone will go to, to fill in this empty pit.  I get it.  And to make sure he knows that I understand, I Severus’s hand and squeeze it.  I’m not afraid that he will pull his hand back, because we both already understand each other better than any other could.  We were lonely unwanted individuals.  So I squeeze his hand.

I know he understands because he squeezes mine in return.

 


End file.
